100 Muggle Novels
by ndp
Summary: The Wizengamot sentences Draco Malfoy to read 100 muggle novels. Hermione Granger works at a bookstore. Lord, what fools these mortals be. Luna POV, Post-war, post-Hogwarts, EWE.
1. Chapter 1

_The Wizengamot sentences Draco Malfoy to read 100 muggle novels. Hermione Granger works at a bookstore. Lord, what fools these mortals be. Luna POV, Post-war, post-Hogwarts, EWE. _

Disclaimer: No ownership, no gain.

_Chapter 1:_

I knew it work out in the end. The feather-toed flaxeys told me. And, really, it was only a matter of time.

I suppose we need to "rewind" a little. "Rewinding" is what Hermione does with the Muggle cassette tapes she likes, which means they run backwards, so when she listens to them again they start at the beginning. I like to listen to them backwards instead of forwards, which Hermione says is why I make a good flatmate. I listen to them backwards because according to a Muggle I met at a record store sometimes have secret messages. I suppose, in that way, Muggle cassette tapes are a little like feather-toed flaxeys.

The first thing that worked out was the war. When Ginny read this she said I was being too matter-of-fact, but, really, that's not what this story is about, so I intend to leave it that way. If you really want to know about the war-about the new spells we developed, about the complex crossing and double-crossing that occurred-you can look in the newspaper archives (I recommend _The Quibbler_) or in a history text. I am not going to rehash what everyone already knows. Someone else can do that.

Hermione and I got a flat together after the war, in the region of London known for the kraken inhabiting its sewers, a distant relative of Hogwarts' giant squid. His name is, dubiously enough, Fergie. But we didn't see very much of him in our flat, seeing as we were three floors up, and I imagine Fergie was happy right where he was, in the ground. Sometimes it's better to stay on the ground, or in it, as the case may be. Safer.

I was working for my father at _The Quibbler_, managing our new London office because he preferred not to leave the house. The Quib, as Ron calls it, had expanded after the war, which I suppose was something that worked out to my benefit, though this story isn't about me anymore than it's about the war. Which is to say: it was about me, and the war, but only as these things relate to Hermione.

Hermione was working at a bookstore during the day. It was down a flight of stairs, under the Muggle record store, and sold Muggle books in the front and adult toys in the back, and then wizarding books in the back behind that. Ron would like me to point out that Flourish & Blotts didn't hire Hermione because "they're a bunch of bloody wankers." I suppose it's worth noting that the fellow who did hire Hermione didn't realize she was running a business selling rare and out-of-print magical volumes behind the rear room. Being forever in a cloud of powdered pixie wings, he didn't notice much, poor man.

At night, and during the day when the bookstore was empty, Hermione was studying law. And developing spells. And doing nearly everything she did at Hogwarts, but without the determination to accomplish the specific task of fighting Voldemort she was trying to accomplish every task at once. Accomplishing every task is generally not possible; I told Hermione that, and the story of Lady Amelencia of Aard, which Hermione said she already knew. At the time, I did not tell her that wasn't the point. I probably should've.

So this story starts with Hermione and I sharing a flat in London, and the war being over, and streaky sheaths of sunlight coming in through the grimy basement window of a bookstore, where Hermione was sitting at the counter with too many pens stuck in her hair, scribbling on a yellow legal pad she had stolen from me, which I had stolen from the offices of The Quibbler, but that is really not part of the story at all. The rest I will try to tell you straight from the Pensieve, with as little embellishment as possible, but minimal embellishment is generally not what I do best. But I am a journalist, and in the interest of maintaining my integrity, I'll do what I can (Ginny would like it on the record that I don't have any journalistic integrity. I would like it on the record that if Ginny's employer didn't insist on constantly publishing lists of the "Top Ten Most Shaggable Quidditch Players" _The Quibbler_ would not insist on putting it second on our annual list of the "Top Ten Most Rubbish Publications." The _Daily Prophet_ is _always_ first-_The Quibbler_ is always third. The list never changes, actually, and we've only run it once.).

* * *

The bell rang.

"Does this store sell books?" It was a man's voice.

"That's what the sign says," Hermione said. If she sounded snide, it was because she couldn't help herself. "Well, the sign actually says _bookstore_, so I suppose we might just store them, but I don't know anywhere that does that."

"Well, the last two I went in said bookstore on the sign, but all they were selling was erotica."

"That's because they were _adult_ bookstores. Which we are as well, if you're interested." Hermione was still jotting down notes, but she was always matter-of-fact about what her workplace was; she didn't seem to realize that few men wanted to buy sex toys from a woman who them as if they were produce at the grocery. Or maybe she did, and was just trying to avoid the discussion. At this point she finished what she was writing, forced her mouth into what she hoped was a helpful shop assistant smile (but was in fact more like a grimace), and looked up.

"How can I help y-Malfoy?"

Draco Malfoy was indeed standing in the doorway, his eyes still not fully adjusted to the dim light inside. But when they did, or perhaps it was just the familiar shrill register of Hermione Granger's voice, he groaned. Of all the bookstores in all of muggle London...but he steeled his shoulders, because he had already been subjected to two too many muggle bookstores selling, not books at all, but dildos.

"Hello, Granger. I would like to buy a book. A muggle book."

"Of course you would," Hermione said, snideness intact.

"Seriously Granger, can you just recommend me a book? Or better yet, give me one without talking?"

"That depends on what you need it for," she was trying to sound pleasant, but failing.

"Granger, I don't want to talk about it, I just need a book. A muggle book."

"You have absolutely no requirements for the contents of said book?" Hermione knew they had an illustrated Kama Sutra somewhere around here, and if Draco Malfoy was, apparently, the one man in the world who didn't like porn, he was _certainly_ going to get it.

Malfoy sighed, and pulled a scrap of paper out of the pocket of his jeans. He could almost have passed as muggle, except his shirt was a flowered button-down that would be more suited to someone's mother. Hermione was amazed he had even found it in a man's cut-she looked for darting in the chest.

"Granger, stop checking me out. You know you haven't got a chance."

"I would, but you haven't bought anything yet," Hermione said, but the pun fell flat. "And if you keep talking like that, I won't need to, because I won't sell you anything."

"I need a novel," he said, reading the paper.

"And you aren't going to tell me why?"

"No Granger, I will not feed your gossip mongering. I am going to ask you for a muggle novel, any muggle novel, or perhaps several, and maybe I'll come in next week and buy another, because in the end I'll need one hundred. But if you're going to keep asking about it I'll risk the porno palaces and never patronize your establishment again."

"You'd never patronize my establishment again!" Hermione exclaimed. "That would be tragic. But because I'm a good employee-not, mind you, because I want to see your ferrety face again-I will help you find a book."

Hermione actually already had a book in mind. If Malfoy was going to come into _her_ bookstore and ask _her_ for a recommendation, well, suffice to say Hermione Granger was not going to let a bibliophilic convert go to waste. Even if it was Malfoy.

"Or actually, three. It's a series, so you get three for one, and I guess if you need to one hundred you'd best get crack-a-lacking," she said, pulling away from the counter and walking out into the stacks. "J. R. R. Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings. If you buy all three, I'll throw in "The Hobbit" for free. And if you like them _all_ you could come back for "The Silmarillion" but usually only the die-hard fans can even bother with that." To tell the truth, Hermione loved "The Silmarillion" more than anything Tolkien had ever written, for the same reasons she loved "Hogwarts: A History." Which came first was a chicken-or-egg quandary not worth discussing. She walked up to the fantasy section and pulled the four books down without hardly glancing at the shelves. Draco followed, bewildered at the transformation from snark to amiability, but afraid to question it because muggle porn shops were, frankly, strange. And they made him feel dirty

Hermione slapped the books on the counter and rang them up, writing the receipt by hand before giving Draco the total.

"You sure you summed that correctly? I don't want to get cheated."

"I'm giving you a free book, arsehole. Does it even matter? It'd still be cheaper than it should be. Not to mention that I'd eat my foot if you understand the exchange rate."

"I'd pay to see that."

* * *

And that was how Hermione Granger sold Draco Malfoy his first four muggle novels, four for the price of three, already plotting what books she would set him on next using a flow chart to determine her response to his reponses. She had, after all, been given the opportunity to convert a hardened pureblood to muggle literature, and she wasn't going to let it go to waste. Hermione came home that evening and slapped her bag on the table in the way she only did when she was slightly pashed or extremely excited.

"Luna, you would not believe who came to the store today."

"If you say so, I guess not," I said mildly. "Though I do think I'll believe whatever you tell me. And of course I wouldn't be surprised at all if it were Draco Malfoy."

"Luna! How did you...?" I thought about explaining about garbles, and how they do the opposite of garble and in fact allow you to know more clearly than you might otherwise, but instead I held up the day's issue of _The Quibbler_, headline: "Wizengamut decides Draco Malfoy's punishment." Subheading: "Younger Malfoy sentenced to live without magic until reading 100 muggle novels." And then there was a moving picture of Malfoy leaving the hearing, head hung, reporters mobbing the poor boy. Underneath that, the headline: "Life in Loch Ness: An Interview With Nessie." It was really a remarkable piece of layout if I do say so myself. You can't understand unless you'd seen it (Ginny disagrees, but working for _Witch Weekly _doesn't mean you know _anything_ about the press). Hermione, looking slightly incredulous, then grabbed my magazine and started flipping through, skimming the article. She would deny it, but I think she mostly looked at the pictures.

"That explains it-who made the ruling?"

"Dumbledore's portrait."

"Well! That's rather unorthodox."

"Mmm-hmm."

"How does the no magic part work?"

"I didn't write the article."

"But it says you did, Luna." She points to the byline, looking annoyed. I should have known Hermione wouldn't overlook a detail like that-this is the woman who once caught a library that had alphabetized half their Gabriel Garcia Marquez under "G" and half under "M."

"Well, I supposed it does say that. But it's all written there, anyway."

And it was.

* * *

The punishment doled out by Dumbledore's portrait was typical of Dumbledore the man-quirky, yet carefully calibrated. Draco Malfoy was to read 100 muggle novels. Nothing he had read prior could qualify. His magic use would be monitored, and any use at all would result in an immediate response from the Ministry. Well, excepting one spell: _Bibliodex_-a special monitor which had been placed on Malfoy, which he or anyone else could check at any time and maintained a record of the books he had read and how close he was to his goal. He was also to live as a muggle until the books had been read-small withdrawals could be made from the frozen and depleted Malfoy estate to cover a cheap flat, food and necessities-muggle clothes, for one, and the books, for two. He was expected to buy his clothes used to encourage him to further connect with muggles. He was allowed in wizarding areas, namely Diagon Alley, but he was not allowed to wear robes.

That was the ruling. Once the books were read-really read, as determined by the spell-it would be over. No book reports to write, no exams to pass. The spell would alert the Ministry, and the block on Draco Malfoy's use of magic would be lifted. He would have access to the Malfoy family estate, albeit depleted by war payments. Everything would be exactly the same, unless one hundred muggle books, and novels at that, not history or academic texts, could change his mind.

Hermione knew all of this information by the time Draco Malfoy returned to the bookstore the next week. Draco Malfoy assumed as much. He actually wasn't sure why he came back, since he had gotten out last time with his life intact, and really, why risk it again? But then he found himself on the right street, and he found the seedy looking stairwell and the cast iron sign-how _had_ he even found it the first time?-and he knew that there weren't dildos prominently displayed within, despite appearances to the contrary. Maybe Granger wouldn't be working.

Of course she was.

"Hello, Granger."

"Hello Malfoy."

"So, want to rub it in my face? Tell me how much I deserve this?"

"Malfoy, you should be _honored_. The time to read one hundred novels-it's like a vacation! The best vacation. You _don't_ deserve it, not at all. But what I really want to know is what you thought of the books. _Bibliodex_."

And there was the number, in both of their heads: 4.

"Fuck you," said Draco. "Everyone keeps doing that. It's going to give me a sinus headache."

"Poor widdle Malfoy. Maltfoy. Milfoy. Your name really is ridiculous, you know. Now: the books?"

"Like your name is so much better," Draco muttered. "It means _farmer_."

"We Grangers have worked the land for many years. It's a noble profession."

"Seriously? Your parents are farmers?"

"No, they're dentists. And no, I'm not going to tell you what that is. The books?" The last phrase was practically shouted, and Draco brought a hand up to his head.

"My sinuses?"

"Don't care," she said flatly.

"The conception of magic was rudimentary at best. Throwing the ring into Mount Doom as monumentally stupid. And I don't understand how a hobbit is any different from a person who's just short. Like you."

"Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy," Hermione shook her head. "I should've known better than to start you off on fantasy. You have a long way to go, young grasshopper."

"96 books, Granger."

"Well, we'll see if we can't put a dent in that," she reached behind the counter and dropped several books on the table. "Douglas Adams. And I'll be charging you full price for these."

"And maybe I won't come back to your little shop."

"They always come back," she shouted as he walked out the door, bell ringing behind him.

* * *

We went out to the Leaky Cauldron that night like we did every Wednesday: Hermione, Harry and Ginny (they were a package set), Ron, Neville, me. We always got a booth at the Leaky Cauldron, and pulled up tables on the end, and shouted to anyone we recognized even remotely and made them sit at our table and Harry would insist on buying them a pint of the terrible brew-Hippogriff's Hock-that only he liked (Harry would like to note that Hippogriff's Hock has won several independent brew awards, both wizarding and muggle. Ron would like to note that it tastes like toilet bowl water. I would ask how he knows, but I don't want to know). Sometimes we'd bring my Gryffindor hat from Hogwarts and set it at the head of the table and call the whole table the Lion's Head, a bar within a bar, or sometimes we'd try to make the person talking wear it, but that never worked because everyone was always talking over one another. It really was like going to a party with a bunch of garbles (_that's_ why they're called garbles).

"Did you hear about Malfoy?" were the first words out of Ron's mouth when we arrived. Hermione was still standing, fumbling around in her purse.

"Of course we heard. Luna wrote the article, Ron," here she glared at me. Hermione holds minor grudges like a axioape, which puts them in a box and will never, ever, let go. This makes them surprisingly easy to kill.

"_I_ also wrote an article about Malfoy's sentencing," Ginny interjected.

"Yes, dear, and it was very good," came from the obvious party.

"I especially liked the bit about how flattering muggle jeans would be on his arse," said Ron. "From my own sister! Harry, you obviously didn't read it."

Harry shrugs helplessly, "You know she has to put in those bits."

"I think the ruling was quite good. It was clever to have Dumbledore's portrait make it, wasn't it?" Hermione said brightly, and I realize Malfoy's arse would be in her line of sight, if she was sitting at the counter and he was walking out, and I wonder if she's ever looked. I don't see why she wouldn't. Well, I know some reasons, but those have to do with the war and I was trying to avoid the subject. This isn't that kind of story.

"Has he been to your bookstore yet, Hermione?" Neville says, obviously thinking it a grand old joke.

"Actually, yes." And the everyone looked at her, except I swilled my pumpkin juice and then spit it out because that seemed appropriate. It ended up all over Neville. I went to get the lavender and quartz I keep in my coat pockets for purifying spills (Hermione took me to what she called a "New Age shop" once. It it was lovely.), and by the time I got back Hermione has told them all about her privileged position of influence in Malfoy's life, and asked them if they have any books to recommend, and of course they don't, until Harry mutters "Pride and Prejudice." Hermione looks at him in shock, but then she nods.

"That might work. Why have you read that one, Harry?"

"Aunt Petunia liked it. One of the only non-bodice rippers she owned, and so the only book of hers I had any interest in reading."

"I should give him a bodice ripper. Malfoy apparently hates porn. Or fears it."

"Figures. Asexual prick." This came from Ron, and everyone was impressed that he realized this implied asexuality, not homosexuality. When Ron read this, he said that of course he is a very reasonable and open-minded individual and then went off in a huff.

That is all anyone said about Malfoy that night, because Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan came round since they knew we'd be there, and they had to tell us an extremely complicated and very strange story about a muggle calculator, and then it was a normal Wednesday at the Leaky Cauldron and everyone was talking loudly, Ginny and Hermione about who they reckoned was the better band, The Mooncalves or Tomorrow's News, and Harry and Ron about something with Quidditch, and Neville and I about the new lot of students at Hogwarts, were Neville taught, and how terribly small they were, but weren't they always?

* * *

All Malfoy would say about Douglas Adams was "Your people are weird" and Hermione had a feeling he liked it. She sold him "Pride and Prejudice" and threw in "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" for free and made a mental note to get Malfoy some books from outside the British Isles soon. Didn't want him replacing his pureblood superiority with some kind of British supremacy.

"What's a record, Granger?" Malfoy said before he left.

"Go upstairs and ask."

"Or you could just tell me so I don't need to explain to the muggles why I don't know."

"I knew you just came here because you were afraid to talk to muggles. You really should work on that little phobia, Malfoy." He gave her a bitter look and turned to leave when she added. "A record plays music."

"Like the Weird Sisters?" The question, like Malfoy's first, just seemed to slip out-it was more innocent than Hermione expected.

"Have you not been to a concert since the Yule Ball? The Weird Sisters haven't been good since the 90's." Hermione shook her head. "Anyway, no, not like the Weird Sisters. You put it in a machine and it just plays music. A recording." Hermione would never understand how spells could foster such advancement in some areas and remain in the dark ages in others-a few old wizarding families had magiophones, phonograph knock-offs manufactured by a wizard, but all the new wizarding bands recorded on cassettes, like muggles. There simply weren't any alternatives, and most pureblood families and their children only listened to music live. Malfoy looked at her blankly, and finally she sighed. "Come upstairs with me, I have an old WalkMan you can borrow."

"At the record store?"

"No, in my flat. And the wards are pretty excellent, so don't think that just because you know where it is you can come by anytime you want," Hermione says as she hangs a "Be Back Soon" sign in the window.

"Are you inviting me up for a drink Granger? Don't you remember what I told you the first time I was here?"

"Why is it that your snark only relates to sex these days? Not getting any?"

"I think you're mixing us up, Granger."

"Oh, good one Malfoy. Real clever."

"Did I hit a soft spot?"

"Not really. Who gets less action-the girl who works at a porn store or the guy who's afraid of them?"

"I am not _afraid _of porn shops. I just find the muggle ones...dirty."

"Whatever you say Malfoy. Well, here we are," she swung open the door. I should probably note that I wasn't home, though I imagine there were several of my mugs making rings on our coffee table. There usually are.

"Nice place you got here, Granger," Malfoy sneered.

"Oh, and I'm sure you're doing so much better," Hermione muttered. Our flat had hardwood floors-it was really quite nice. The furniture, less so.

"I will be once I finish these books."

"Well, you don't seem to be reading right now..." she shook her head and went back towards her room, pausing at the door to look at Malfoy. "Wait here. Don't touch anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Granger."

Hermione emerged from her room several minutes later, clutching an old grey cassette player and a couple tapes.

"Here. You just put these in-like so-and click the button with the triangle on it. Square to stop. If you break it-well, just don't touch it anymore and hope to Merlin you didn't ruin any of my tapes. And you put these in your ears to listen."

"So I'm supposed to stick something in my ear that's been in yours?"

"And Harry's, and Ron's, probably Luna's, Ginny's...You know, village bicycle."

"No, I don't know," Malfoy looked slightly aghast.

"Relax, I'm kidding. They're clean. Now get out, I need to go back to work. You need to read some books. We're burning daylight."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2: _

"So how was it?" Hermione asked when Malfoy came in, and he said, "I didn't even read the extra one. If I wanted to read a romance novel I'd just borrow one of my mum's," and Hermione knew she had work to do.

"It's a social satire, you twit. You're as bad as those girls. Well, I've picked out two American novels for you this time. And they're ones they read in school, so perhaps that'll be more at your level," she said, and took them from where she'd stowed them behind the counter: "The Catcher in the Rye" and "To Kill a Mockingbird."

"So now you've got me reading kids' stuff, Granger?"

"I'm simply giving you a well-rounded education, since you seem to have missed out on an entire genre of literature. If I thought they'd pass I'd give you Shakespeare and then maybe you'd understand."

"I've already read Shakespeare. Everyone knows he was a wizard. That's why the muggles can't figure out who he was."

"Oh, what crap. Would you read all these books happily if I told you the authors were _secret_ wizards?"

"No, because I'd know you were lying. And, really Granger, I'd expect better of you."

"Oh ho, now there are _Great Expectations_," Hermione laughed, and then went over to a shelf. "Here, take that as well and...uh-ummm... 'A Tale of Two Cities.' Now pay up and run along."

"Run along? You really do think I'm a child," Malfoy eyed the receipt and carefully counted out the pounds.

"Well, you've read about as much as one, haven't you? And you seem to read in the same stupid way as a child, all about the plot and not about the _essence_."

"And what's the essence of your favorite book? 'Hogwarts: A History' isn't it? _Eau de Dull_?"

"Oh, Malfoy, I'm honored you noticed. Now don't you have places to be, things to do, books to read?"

"Aren't you going to ask about your...music things?"

"Cassette tapes-oh yes-too good for those as well?"

"Wizengamot is out. I'll need to borrow another."

"Aw, I fink liddle Malfoy wikes it! Well, I think I have some around here so you don't need to set foot in my hovel of a flat," Hermione fumbled among the junk piled behind the counter, and finally found a couple cassettes and passed them across the counter. "But I expect to get all those-and the player-back soon. _In better condition than you received them._"

"What are you, my mother? Or some librarian?" Malfoy said, but he was obviously satisfied, and he left.

"A librarian," Hermione muttered. She kept a file of the whereabouts of all her cassette tapes. She was still bitter about an ex who had taken her Cream. Though she actually wasn't sure what one of the tapes she had just given Malfoy was-that worried her. She shook her head. Probably some Dylan. It'd be fine.

* * *

That night I baked undercooked brownies and we had Ginny and the Patil twins and Lavender Brown and Cho Chang over, which Hermione said was far too much like a Harry-Potter's-girlfriends club (Harry-Potter's-girlfriends clubs were popular in the First Year circuit that year, though usually the girls only pretended to by Harry Potter's girlfriends. Ginny wrote a piece on it for her terrible publication, and was nearly lynched by one of the ten-year-olds she had to interview. Which just goes to show that _Witch Weekly _is extremely unprofessional.). She also said it reminded her of the Gryffindor dormitory and she refused to be one of those people who reminisced about their boarding school dormitory. But it's good to have friends, and we had friends or at least people who liked their brownies fudgey and undercooked but wouldn't make them themselves, and everyone knows that friends are like tundrles, and if you don't use them you lose them. Hermione said she saw her friends every Wednesday night at the Leaky Cauldron, and then I had to explain that if all your friends are male certain problems can result. Like all your friends being terribly emotionally stunted (Harry took offense at that; Ron said I was right. I like Ron, he's learning.). Also, you can't talk about your period, and I had mine for seventeen days straight once, and my father didn't want to hear about it and if all my friends were male who would I tell? Hermione didn't have anything to say to that. No one does. It turns out I had my period for seventeen days because there was dust from the Sahara in the air over England. I'm very sensitive to these things.

"So how's the Malfoy book club doing?" Ginny asked as soon as she came in, shedding her bag and jacket. Ginny carried a very large bag with her everywhere she went, and no one was entirely certain what she kept in it but she said she needed it. She was constantly putting it down in inconvenient locations and then apologizing for it. She had to, because her bag tended to chew on things.

"Sorry about the bag," said Ginny, because the bag had begun to chew on Hermione's shoes. And then the oven played the William Tell Overture, which meant the brownies were done, so I had to leave the room.

"Luna! Can't you make that thing play something else?" Hermione called after me. (And of course I could, but where's the fun in that?) "Ginny, don't you have a spell for this thing?" she added, pulling her shoes from the purse's cavernous mouth.

"Well, of course not. Purse dogs are supposed to be just like muggle purse dogs, aren't they? And muggles can't do spells."

"Muggle purse dogs aren't actual purses," Hermione muttered. "And theirs are also _smaller_."

"Well, where's the fun in that? Now dish. I got here early just so you could tell me without Cho interrupting so you can clarify details about which edition and printing you sold him." Cho was an appraiser for Matterton, the prestigious wizarding auction house, and for reasons no one fully understood, information like that fascinated her.

"He doesn't like any of the books, but he's middling level polite about it." Hermione didn't trust Ginny. She said she was going to turn into Rita Skeeter and she didn't understand why Harry wouldn't do anything to stop it. I had to explain about the power of the word that starts with s and ends with x but isn't a number or an abbreviation for an instrument frequently used in jazz music or a nonstandard spelling of the plural of sock. And besides, Ginny may work for _Witch Weekly_ but she did it with an eye towards reform and interviewing Quidditch stars. And she wasn't an unregistered Animagus quite yet.

"Haven't you heard? He's not allowed to use any 'racial slurs'-he probably doesn't know what to do without the word 'Mudblood' in his vocabulary," Ginny said.

"That explains a little of it, then," Hermione mused. "He seems to be quite taken with my cassette tapes."

"Have you figured out how to get mp3s to work with magic yet? I want one of those-what are they called? Poddles? They're so cute."

"iPod Gin. And I'm working on it, you know."

"Yes, when you aren't writing your Declaration of House Elf Rights. You know, if you made magical iPods maybe you could get enough money to actually go to law school."

"That's the problem with magical law school, anyway. It costs so much that no one who graduates can afford to work _pro bono_ and nothing good gets done," Hermione said. "Wizarding barristers..."

Luckily, Lavender arrived right then and cut her off, "Hello, dears! Are the brownies out of the oven already? I predicted it!" Lavender was in the fortune-telling business. She didn't actually have the Inner Eye, at least not usually, but she wore lots of floaty clothes and muggles paid her to tell them things they already knew. Lavender had proved to be surprisingly observant in this regard, though she usually hid it in fits of giggles and a tendency to defer to whomever she was dating at the time.

"Hermione!" she trilled, dumping a pile of silk scarves a safe distance from Ginny's purse. "What's this I hear about Malfoy coming to _your_ bookstore? Is he still quite fit?"

"Was he ever fit Lav?" Ginny yawned. "All I remember is a glaring pastiness. Whiter than a cave slug, that one."

"Or a mooncalf!" I added from the kitchen.

"Alabaster, dear. Alabaster is _in_ right now. The muggles are all about _vampires_," Lavender giggled. "And don't call me Lav. It sounds like an abbreviation for lavatory."

"You didn't think so a few years ago," Hermione muttered.

"Oh, that was ages ago Hermione! And you know I'm with Thomas now and he thinks my full name is _lovely_."

"Yes, we know all about Justin," Hermione agreed. "Really, telling us about his foot fetish was maybe a little more than I ever wanted to know."

"You all are so dull. I wish Gin would spill more about Harry."

"If I can't call you lavatory you certainly can't call me after a muggle liquor, Lava."

"Okay, fine, full names all around. Why is Cho the only one of this lot with a nice, one-syllable name?"

"Well, her name will be expanded considerably with her upcoming marriage," Ginny giggled.

"What? She and Finch-Fetley are engaged?" Lavender said.

"You weren't here last time, missed that piece of news," Ginny grinned.

"Well Thomas and I were on vacation, weren't we? Tell me everything. And Hermione, don't think this lets you off the hook about Malfoy. I know you never answered my question."

Hermione didn't answer Lavender's question, and then Cho and the Patils arrived, and the brownies had to be eaten before they cooled too much, and Padma had to update Hermione on her research on the nature of magic for an independent think tank (no one else understood it in the least, but they'd spend hours cooing over magic particles if given half a chance) while Parvati crowed about how she was sure the fashion house where she worked would use one of her designs soon, very soon. But sometime near the end of the evening, when we were all slumped around the living room rubbing our bellies and Parvati was wondering if it was possible to _Accio_ food out of the stomach and Hermione was explaining that that was called bulimia and it was very bad, Lavender remembered and asked again.

"So, Hermione, is Malfoy still quite fit?"

"He's not attractive, he's a bigot. The two are mutually exclusive."

"But you're going to reform him, aren't you? And then he'll be lovely."

"Well you obviously already have an opinion, so I wouldn't want to ruin it. And you've seen pictures from the trial, haven't you?"

"Yes, but his face was all wrinkled and serious in those. I haven't seen him in person in ages and ages."

"Come on Hermione, just give her what she wants," said Cho. "You can remove him from his opinions for just one moment and judge him solely on physical merit, can't you?"

"Ginny," Hermione said, turning away from Lavender and Cho. "Remember in your first year, all that with Tom Riddle? You wouldn't call him attractive, would you?"

"Hermione! It's hardly comparable," said Padma. "Now you have to tell us."

"Actually," Ginny mused. "Tom was quite hot, in an evil sort of way. But I like Harry better."

"Of course you like Harry better," Parvati said from beside her, putting an arm around her shoulder. "And it was terrible unkind of Hermione to even bring Riddle into this. Now you _have_ to spill."

"_Guys_," Hermione whined, then sighed. "All right. I don't think he's my type, but he might be-just a tiny bit-attractive. If he would stop wearing women's shirts."

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Cho said, but Lavender was frowning.

"There's got to be more to it than that, otherwise you wouldn't have tried so hard to hide it. I want more details, Hermione."

And then there was a knock on the door, one of those fortuitous coincidences that usually only happens in novels or when a flock of bilbies is flying overhead. I went to get it, and Lavender gave Hermione a look that was intended to tell Hermione their conversation wasn't over but really just looked constipated.

It was Draco Malfoy. He smelled like the man who walked up and down our street prophesying doomsday, and he was uneven on his feet.

"I thought your wards were pretty excellent Granger?" he said. His tone was mild, but he was slurring his words.

"Well Luna let you in, you imbecile. And she's my flatmate."

"You... you live with the loony?" Hermione looked at me and I looked at him. I almost wanted to laugh because it had been so long since I'd been called that, but I knew it bothered Hermione-that he didn't call her mudblood because he _couldn't_, but he would still call me loony. She got up, and there was a sort of rage in her eyes that the women in the room knew well.

"Hermione," Ginny said.

"You know, Malfoy," Hermione said, ignoring the rest of us. "I don't think I'll magic you, because it's really _cruel_ to use magic on someone who can't use it back. You know that?"

"You know what I want to know, Granger?" he held up a cassette tape. It was not in good shape, and Hermione flinched when it crunched between his fingers. His voice lowered to a hiss. "Who's Ash, Granger?"

Then several things happened at once. Hermione, who had been clenching and unclenching her fingers in a fist, lifted her hand as if to punch Malfoy. Ginny and Cho shouted "No!" while Padma said "Ash?" Lavender started to shake as if perhaps she did have the Inner Eye. And Malfoy collapsed in our doorway.

You should probably know now that muggle liquor does not react well with the wizarding body. Something about the chemistry-Hermione or Padma could explain it-makes the onset of drunkenness much swifter, and it usually results in a black-out like Malfoy evidently experienced. We all looked at him.

"Well, shit," said Hermione.

"Ash, Hermione?" Padma said. "MY Ash?"

Hermione sank to the floor besides Malfoy and sighed, "You have to believe me, Padma. We never did anything. I just-made him a mix tape. I didn't even give it to him."

"And I know you're telling the truth _how_?"

"I just am," Hermione said. "I wouldn't-Gryffindor, right? Gryffindor, Padma. We were friends. I made him a mix tape-he wasn't even with you. I wanted...but he wanted to date an Indian girl."

"So you introduced us because I was an _Indian girl_? Was that the only reason?"

"No, Padma. I introduced you because I thought you would like each other. Because he was smart and funny and _nice_. And you did, alright? You do, don't you? Ask Ash, he'll confirm everything I said. Ask..." Hermione fumbled with Malfoy's fingers and extracted the crushed tape. "_For Ash_, okay? Not from Ash." She laughed bitterly, "It was a good mix. I spent a lot of time on that one."

Padma got up and left. Parvati looked at us, mouthed "Sorry," and collected both of their things, followed her sister.

"So, you think we're still friends?" Hermione asked, looking around at the rest of us and sounding tired. "And I guess you can decide for yourself what you think about Malfoy."

Lavender was still silent. We all looked at her, because normally she would be the first to speak, and there was a sheen in her eye, a strange glaze like widows with a shuttering spell cast on them. Suddenly, she shook it off.

"Can I have some paper? I need to write something down," was all she said.

"Did you make a prophecy?" Cho said. "Can you tell it to us?"

"Later," Lavender said, while I went to fetch paper. "Hermione, Luna-you're going to have to let Malfoy sleep on the couch. He looks rather sweet like that, doesn't he?"

"What's going on, Hermione?" Ginny said softly. "With Ash-and why did Malfoy care so much?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I was just giving him books. We hardly talked. Unless-" she frowned. "I think I was the only person he was talking to. That would be something, wouldn't it?"

"Don't forget he was drunk, besides," Cho said. "Muggle liquor, I'd think."

"Yes, that would do it, probably," Hermione sighed.

"But what about Ash?" Ginny asked, still speaking quietly.

"It was like I said," Hermione said. "We were friends. I just had a crush on him. You know I introduced him to Padma-it wasn't a big deal, really."

I came back with the paper and a quill, even though Hermione said we should really use muggle pens (or pins?) around the house because quills were so messy, and we all sat their quietly while she scratched out a note and then put it in her pocket. We sat there for several more minutes, until finally Cho stood up.

"Well," she said. "It's been quite a night! I supposed we should get on our way. Though, girls-" she looked at Hermione and I. "I expect to hear all about tomorrow morning _very soon_. And Hermione, I still want the list of which editions you gave Malfoy."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_:

When Malfoy awoke that morning, Hermione and I were in armchairs on either side of the couch where he had slept, drinking our morning coffee. He looked slightly horrified.

"Were you watching me _sleep_?"

"You were on our couch. It's our prerogative," Hermione said.

"You can tell a lot about a person by how they sleep," I added. "You were sleeping on your side. That means-"

"I don't care what it means," Malfoy said, sulking like a child.

"It means you were trying to protect your weak underbelly," I finished. It's very important to know these things about yourself. I had Hermione make a video recording of me sleeping.

"We made you a cup of coffee to help you deal with your first muggle hangover," Hermione said, nodding to the coffee table, for once living up to its name. "Luna insisted. I think you owe her an apology."

"What are you, my mother? I'll have you know this _isn't_ my first muggle hangover."

"Well Malfoy, that makes you slightly more interesting than I had previously thought," Hermione said with a sigh. "But I really don't care."

"And if she wasn't your mother already, what we're going to do next might make it so," I contributed.

"Do I want to know? I don't want to know. Are you going to stage an intervention and send me to an addiction club? Double-A?"

"How do you know about that?" Hermione asked.

"Muggle told me. Said I ought to go, last night."

"Do I even want to know what else you did last night? Don't answer that. I don't," Hermione muttered, and Malfoy looked pleased and began to swill his coffee, but then he made a face like he'd thrown up a little inside his mouth.

"Did you even put any sugar in this? Or milk?"

"No," Hermione said flatly. "We both take ours black."

"Well, can someone fix this for me? It tastes like dirt that's been made into a paste."

"Oh, you-" Hermione grumbled, but I magicked up some milk and sugar because my mother always said you should be polite to guests.

"Are you going to say thank you?" Hermione asked as Malfoy began to dump sugar by the spoonful into Hermione's fairtradeorganicshadegrown coffee. She flinched.

"Fuck you, Granger," Malfoy said flatly. "Thank you, Lovegood."

"You're welcome, Malfoy." I may have beamed a little, because Hermione gave me a dirty look. She has a rule about beaming before teatime, and probably a rule about beaming at Malfoys as well.

"So is this an intervention?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, at the same time Hermione said, "No."

"We think you need friends," I finally said.

"So we're going to show you how to make muggle friends," Hermione said. "So you'll leave me alone."

"Not because you're Gryffindors and I'm your latest charity case?"

"Luna isn't a Gryffindor. And if it wasn't for her you'd be sleeping in a stairwell."

"Or the street," I said. "Where someone probably would've raped you."

"Where someone hopefully would've mistook you for a vampire and put a stake through your heart. But, no, it's not because you're a charity case. I know that would make you feel like a little man."

"We let Ginny look at your little man after you passed out. She wanted to measure it for _Witch Weekly_," I told him, and Malfoy looked stricken.

"That was a joke, Malfoy," Hermione said, after we'd both watched him squirm for roughly fifty-four seconds.

"You scare me, Lovegood," he said.

"Thank you."

He didn't say you're welcome, just sat there drinking his coffee and looking constipated. I think that was his grumpy face. I think we were supposed to be scared.

"Well," he finally said. "This has been delightful, ladies-if you are, in fact, ladies-but I really think I should be leaving now."

"No, Malfoy," Hermione sighed. "If you're going to show up, drunk on my doorstep, in the middle of the night and ask me about mix tapes, you're going to have to suffer the consequences."

"Besides," I said. "You already drank the coffee."

"Was it poisoned? Or potioned in any way?"

"No. But now you owe us."

"Come on, Malfoy. This'll be painless," Hermione said, standing up and handing him his coat.

"Did you strip me last night?"

"No," Hermione said, at the same time as I said "Yes."

"You were in our foyer. Our prerogative," Hermione smirked.

But he put on his coat, and somehow we got Malfoy to follow us down the stairs and out into the street. Thankfully it was a perfect day-the air was crisp and clear, the sky was bright blue, and our street did not smell like urine as it sometimes did when it was hot. Hermione watched Malfoy like he might bolt at any minute.

"We're going to the park, Malfoy," Hermione said. "And then a coffee shop, and then the record store."

He grumbled. Hermione looked at him like she'd tackle him if he ran.

"The park's very nice, Malfoy. I think it might be a vortex," I said. "A vortex is a place where the wall's between the worlds are very thin."

"I don't care, Lovegood."

"Do you remember when Hermione almost punched you last night? Is that why you're calling me Lovegood?"

"No. And if Granger was going to punch me, I don't think I'd be scared, because I bet she punches like a girl."

"Well, she certainly doesn't punch like a lady," I said. "But I believe you've experienced that before."

"Don't bring that up, it's embarrassing," said Hermione, looking uncomfortable.

"Granger, are you trying to hide your violent tendencies?" Malfoy said, brightening at Hermione's discomfort. "You shouldn't, it's really charming."

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

"Oh, and she talks like a sailor, too!" he crowed.

"Stop it, you two," I said. "Malfoy, we are trying to help you. Hermione, we're trying to help Malfoy."

"I changed my mind. He's not worth it."

"Of course he's not. We're doing this despite our better judgment."

"I would appreciate it if you acknowledged my presence," Malfoy said. We ignored him.

"Maybe we should just leave him with Mr. Doomsday. Malfoy could be his apprentice," Hermione continued.

"Mr. Doomsday doesn't take apprentices. I already asked."

"Why did you-never mind. Maybe we should get him a job at a petrol station. He might get mugged."

"That's actually very unlikely."

"Well, this is all very nice," Malfoy said. "But maybe I'll just go back to my flat now, and read some books..."

"You sound like Hermione," I said.

"No, Malfoy," Hermione said, ignoring me. "Come along."

Malfoy looked annoyed, but he followed us anyway. He and Hermione were silent, but I kept up a running commentary on landmarks we passed and significant street people.

"It's nice to see you keep such high-class company," Malfoy commented after I finished talking to Ms. Delfield, who fed the pigeons in one of the parks.

"And if you're with us, what does that say about you?" Hermione asked.

"I'm a hostage."

"You keep thinking that."

When we finally rounded the corner to the library, Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "We're here."

"And where would _here_ be?"

"Public library. We're going to find you a book club."

"I don't like my books grimy."

"You can still buy them new if you please. I just decided I don't want to recommend you books anymore, and I don't want to be the only person you talk to, so we're going to hit two Bludgers with one bat."

"You're not that good at Quidditch."

"No I'm not Malfoy. But neither are you."

"Especially not now," I contributed. "Seeing as you aren't allowed to play."

"Don't remind me," Malfoy snapped. "Though it's not like anyone would've let me in their Quidditch club, anyway."

"Don't be self-pitying Malfoy, it doesn't suit you," Hermione said with a sigh, and set up the steps. "If you keep this up I'm going to start missing your smug megalomania, and then where will we be?"

Malfoy looked more constipated at this, but followed Hermione and I into the library. It was becoming apparent that his post-Wizengamot life was painfully dull. Hermione and I had both expected him to leave after five blocks, and then we were going to get breakfast at our favorite coffee house and go to the park. We both liked to pet other peoples' dogs.

We swung open the doors and stepped inside, and Hermione let out a gentle exhale, grinning with unabashed delight. I could see Malfoy watching her with the hint of a smirk on his face, but he didn't say a word. We walked right up to the front desk, and Hermione smiled brightly at the man behind it.

"My friend," here she pushed Malfoy forward, "needs a library card."

"So we're friends now?" Malfoy muttered, and she gave him a pat on the back that looked like it would sting.

"And we were wondering if there's a sort of men's book club? Or boy's. Either way." Malfoy glared, but didn't risk a snide comment.

"'Fraid not, miss," the librarian said. He had an American accent, and while he looked about our age, he talked like he was younger. "We've got a sort of generalized book club-but it's mostly old women reading Danielle Steele." He looked at Malfoy, then. "But if you're looking for just any ol' club to join, my friends and I need another guy for our football team. You're a little scrawny, but-have you played before?"

"He'll do it," Hermione and I said simultaneously, and then I grabbed Malfoy and began to move him away while Hermione got more information from the librarian.

"Football," I said to Malfoy. "Muggles like it as well as wizards like Quidditch."

"I can't believe he called me scrawny," Malfoy muttered.

"Come on, Malfoy," Hermione said when she rejoined us. "Do you have a TV? We'll need to get you one. And some videotapes. I told him you'd know what you were doing. Your first team practice is this weekend. Actually, I know someone who might be able to help."

"So now I have to play some muggle sport?" Draco asked, while Hermione continued to mutter to herself.

"Yes, you do," I said. "We're helping you make friends, Malfoy, you should be grateful."

"Grateful, Lovegood? That I'm your new pet project? Another lost cause for Granger and Lovegood Incorporated?"

"As it happens," I said. "We're a not-for-profit organization. Once you get your fortune back, we'd appreciate any donations you would be willing to mail us. And I'll be sure you receive an invitation to our biannual Hope for the Hopeless Gala."

"Shut up, Lovegood," Malfoy said, but without his usual venom. "I'm going home. Granger, I still expect you to provide me with reading material."

"Aw, shit," Hermione muttered, shaken out of her reverie. "I don't think we hit any Bludgers today."

"I told you you weren't that good at Quidditch."

"Don't be a bastard, Malfoy," Hermione shouted after him.

"I'd say that was a success," I said. "And I'm pretty sure his parents were married. Purebloods, you know."

"I know Luna. But that doesn't change what he _is." _

Ash's full name was Ashoka, after the Indian emperor, but he always refused to talk about Buddhism with me. He looked like royalty but didn't act like it, which was probably why Hermione and Padma both found him so attractive. For his work as an Unspeakable at the Ministry he frequently wore fine wire-framed reading glasses, and his long eyelashes practically brushed the lenses. There are certain theories about what such effete lashes on a man mean, but I won't enumerate them here. Perhaps to make up for his feminine lashes, Ash was as avid a footie fan as Dean Thomas ever was-this, in Padma's mind, being his only flaw.

Hermione called him that night, because we didn't have a fireplace for floo. This is what I heard of the conversation:

"Ash, hi."

"I'm not in love with you."

"Can you teach my friend to play football?"

"No, he hasn't played before."

"Yes, he's a wizard."

"Bye."

When Hermione hung up, I noted that the conversation sounded a little terse, and maybe they both needed to clean their ears. Hermione shrugged.

"Well, I didn't want him to have any reason to believe I was in love with him. And besides, once you get Ash on football you can't shut him up." And that was the truth. The next evening, when we met up with him at the field where Ash's club team practiced, it seemed like he'd been talking about football nonstop since Hermione's phone conversation with him the night before. He was midsentence. Hermione and I paid no attention.

* * *

"Ash," Hermione said. "This is Draco Malfoy." Malfoy was standing there looking disgruntled, wearing the trainers Hermione had found for him and a football jersey that was too large.

"Malfoy? _The _Draco Malfoy? You're friends with him now, Hermione?"

"I may have lied about him being a friend," she said.

"I'm her latest charity case," Malfoy said, and Hermione glared at him.

"Don't forget you _asked_ for my help. And Luna's involved in this as well."

"We're helping him make friends," I said. "So he doesn't come barging into our apartment drunk."

"That was _you_ mate?" Ash said. "Padma told me about it."

"Oh, so you're _Ash_," Draco said. "Granger, I didn't know you were going to introduce me to your _boyfriend_."

"Malfoy, I didn't realize you were a _complete_ arse, but I guess that's my fault for assuming you had any capacity for growth. How old are we? It was a mix tape."

"Well, I guess I just don't understand the socio-political connotations of mix tapes, not having been raised muggle and all."

"Malfoy, just," Hermione sighed. "Ash, I realize I may be asking too much of you. Do you want to give it a try? If he's completely-well, we can scrap this."

But Ash had a gleam in his eye, one Hermione would have recognized if she had been looking in a mirror when Malfoy came into her store looking for books. Hermione hadn't been looking in a mirror then, because everyone knows it's very bad luck to keep mirrors near porn. Porn is very vain. And since Hermione hadn't had that mirror, she just looked at Ash and waited for his response.

"Of course I'll do it, Hermione. Anything for you." Malfoy was batting his eyelashes like a girl between Ash and Hermione, and neither of them noticed him but I had to cover my mouth to hide a laugh. He looked like the members of a peculiar wizarding subculture from Japan, who used complex spellwork to make their eyes and heads large but their bodies small. I had written an article on it for _The Quibbler_-it had something to do with muggle cartoons, only the cartoons whose viewers tended to take offense when they were called cartoons.

"Thank you," said Hermione, and Malfoy continued to simper in the background.

"If you keep doing that," I said. "Your face will stay that way." Ash and Hermione both looked askance, and Malfoy pretended as if nothing had happen. Ash slapped him on the back.

"Well, mate," he said. "Ready to play some football?"

Malfoy looked like he wasn't sure at all.

"Yes," he said.


End file.
